


Avuncular Duties

by LondonSparrow



Category: Seraphina - Rachel Hartman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonSparrow/pseuds/LondonSparrow
Summary: For a saar, Orma takes his avuncular duties seriously. The first time Seraphina visits Quighole with Orma, to purchase the ointment for her scales.





	Avuncular Duties

The night was dark and growing darker when Orma came to my door. He knocked three times and waited; he knocked thrice more and scraped his nails against the door. Certain it was him, I rose from my bolster and hauled it back onto the bed, then crossed to the door and opened it a crack. He stood in the hall, tugging his beard impatiently. As usual, he offered me no greeting before he pushed past me and entered my room.

"Are you ready?" he simply asked, watching me with something between amusement and confusion as I pulled on a cloak and tugged the hood low about my face, hoping to conceal it from passersby. I could scarcely make out his face, but I saw him lift a finger and point it toward me. "Seraphina, explain this. By rendering yourself deaf and blind with this fabric" - he reached out and rubbed my hood between his thumb and index finger - "you are trying to - what's that one called? Disguise yourself?" He lifted his fingers to his nose and sniffed. "Are humans so easily fooled by this?"

I gently removed the cloak from his grasp and retreated further within the folds of fabric. "Let's hope so," I murmured, walking ahead of him. He followed, undoubtedly still perplexed by this new mystery a human had presented him with.

Given the late hour, it was unlikely that we would come across people roaming the streets, but when Orma unexpectedly turned into an alley, foregoing the main road, I didn't protest. I trailed along behind my uncle as he strode purposely through the dark streets. Several times, we passed through a narrow passageway that was not lit from the glow of torches, and briefly I lost sight of Orma, but he always appeared again at the end of the lane, never once breaking stride or looking over his shoulder to see if I was still with him. A twinge of annoyance flickered within; I quickly extinguished it. Orma was a dragon. It would be unwise to expect him to act in anything but draconian fashion.

For all my trust in my uncle, he had refused to tell me where, exactly, we were headed. Soon enough, it became obvious when the smell of quig reached my nostrils. "Quighole?" I moaned, dismayed as Orma continued on toward the small quigutl community that lay ahead of us. I brought the hem of my cloak to my nose in an attempt to block out the horrid odor of garbage and decay. "Orma, why-"

"You need help." He spoke without turning around; the bluntness of his words caused me to stagger. "There is a resident here who can provide us with an ointment that will cease this itch you're experiencing." Without thinking, I twisted my fingers under my sleeve and gingerly rubbed the smooth scales encircling my left wrist. Immediately, a burning need to scratch engulfed me, and I began to dig. A hand clamped down on my wrist. "Stop that!" Orma hissed. "It will only worsen the problem." I whimpered, but heeded his words and withdrew my fingers from my scales.

He exhaled slowly, loosening his grip on my arm without letting go entirely. "Now, listen carefully. Let me speak to him. Do try to avoid drawing attention to yourself; it would be most unpleasant if Claude were to discover you were here."

I nodded, and Orma turned, walking up yet another alley. We arrived at the door of a tavern. A small lantern hung on a nail, providing only a sliver of light which bathed our feet in a weak glow. Orma raised his hand and knocked; I was mildly surprised to see him use the same staccato rhythm he'd performed on my bedroom door. There was a grating sound of metal grinding against metal, then a little hatch window opened.

"Who is it?" demanded a scratchy voice.

"It's the polecat," Orma answered. "I'm here to nix the mink."

It was an odd answer, and I looked at him quizzically, but he seemed immune to my confusion. The door swung open just wide enough for us to pass through and slammed shut immediately after my heel crossed the threshold. I flinched and hurried to catch up to Orma, who had already moved deeper into the crushing flow of bodies. Saar mingled with humans here; quigs scampered and climbed the walls. Others served tables. I had never before witnessed such a scene: the madness the Treaty had the potential to create, if it had quelled the fear along with the bloodshed. I watched, fascinated, as a saar and a human each lifted a tankard of ale and brought them together in a queer sort of toast.

I was losing sight of Orma. I joined him in time to sit down at an unoccupied table far from the drunken revelry of the tavern's crowd. A serving girl timidly approached only to be waved impatiently away by Orma. He subtly slid a hand into his doublet and withdrew some coins. He jingled them in his lap, and moments later, a quig was climbing onto the table.

Orma leaned forward. "Do you have it?"

The creature reached into its gullet, down into its extendable throat pouch, and opened its hand to reveal two objects: a round, tin container, and a figure crafted of silver that resembled the Ardmagar. It was quite detailed, and strangely beautiful for having been made by a dragon with four arms. The quig, noticing my interest, set both items on the table and turned the Ardmagar figure toward me. "Do you like it, maidy?" it lisped.

I couldn't help myself; I picked up the silver trinket and held it in my hand for a moment, weighing it in my palm and considering what to trade for it. Orma had already taken the tin container and given the quig several coins. Our business was finished here. Lingering any longer could be dangerous, should someone recognize me. I smiled and reluctantly put down the bauble.

"It's lovely," I admitted, "but I'm afraid-"

"How much?"

To a stranger passing by, a glance at Orma's face would suggest cool indifference and disinterest. His face remained impassive as he waited for the quig to speak again.

"For thith?" The creature considered for a moment. "I would take two gold cointh."

Wordlessly, Orma pressed the desired amount into the quig's open palm. In a flash, the coins were tossed into the creature's gullet, and then it disappeared under the table, leaving no trace of its presence aside from a lingering stench and the figurine on the table. Orma picked it up, eyed it briefly, then handed it to me. I took it and quickly covered it with my cloak. My eyes were wide as I watched him unwind the cover off of the container, lift it to his nose, and sniff the contents.

"Thank you," I said quietly. In the noise of the tavern, my voice was almost lost, but his hearing was excellent. "You didn't have to do that."

He stood from the table, tucking the container into his doublet. "This, I believe, is what you humans refer to as nonsense. We can't have you scratching all the time. Someone is going to suspect you have been infested by insects." Declining to put a more polite end to the conversation - as was his habit; Orma never saw the use of wasting words - he began weaving through the tables, walking in the direction of the door. With a smile, I followed him, clutching my newly acquired treasure and the secret we shared to my chest.


End file.
